


they took our love (and they filled it up)

by cherryonbottom



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: (tagging that just in case), Belly Kink, Feeding Kink, Hypnotism, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Control, Stuffing, Weight Gain, like. a tiny bit ok it's mentioned twice, oh boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 12:54:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15413358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryonbottom/pseuds/cherryonbottom
Summary: Patrick can hypnotize people, and Pete finds this ... convenient.





	they took our love (and they filled it up)

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry it's four am i hate everything abt this Especially the title i'm so sorry  
> but uh. enjoy?  
> (also no i don't know how patrick can hypnotize ppl just let it happen)

“Okay, you’re still good to go?” Patrick asks for what Pete swears is the fifth time in the past ten minutes alone.

“ _ Yes, _ ” Pete groans. “Let’s just get started, okay? I’m ready.” He settles back into the couch cushions to prove his point, and Patrick finally looks like he’s going to give in.

“I’m not going to put you completely under, just, like, 95%,” Patrick explains, like always. “If you need to stop, I’ll know, and we will.”

“I know, I know,” Pete says impatiently. 

Patrick doesn’t say anything else before catching Pete’s eyes with his own and holding his gaze steady. He’s barely started his countdown from ten before Pete gets a rush of dizziness in his head, like a wave of static, and he’s under.

It feels like there’s a heavy weight pressing down on Pete’s mind from all sides. It’s like a voice telling him that whatever he does, he has to listen to Patrick. (It’s kind of the best feeling ever.)

“Pete,” Patrick says, and his voice sounds all deep and echo-y and  _ hot.  _

Pete opens his mouth to answer, but Patrick shakes his head. 

“No, I don’t want you talk right now,” Patrick says calmly. “I just want you to sit here for me while I go get the food.”

Pete, obviously, doesn’t have any choice but to shut his mouth and wait as Patrick walks away. There’s only a very small section of his brain that still belongs to  _ him,  _ the rest is just  _ PatrickPatrickPatrick.  _ He has no idea what Patrick has planned for today, but he has a feeling that he’s going to like it a lot.

Patrick returns a moment later, a bag of something Pete can’t see dangling from his left hand. He puts it down and pulls out a large, greasy cheeseburger. “Open your mouth,” he tells Pete, and Pete obeys without being able to think about it.

When Patrick pushes the burger into Pete’s mouth, Pete takes as big of a bite as he can. He can already feel the grease dripping down his chin, and he can’t bring himself to care. Patrick catches his eye, and the weight pressing down on Pete increases just enough that Pete can’t really think in coherent sentences anymore.

“You’re doing very good,” Patrick murmurs, and Pete distantly realizes that he’s now on his second burger. “So good for me.”

Patrick reaches a hand out and gently rubs along Pete’s stomach. There’s a swell there that used to only happen when they did things like this, but it’s been permanent for a few months now. Patrick fucking  _ loves  _ it. He loves the soft give of Pete’s stomach that was never there before, and at times like this, he loves the way he can already feel Pete’s stomach growing taut.

Pete involuntarily makes a quiet groaning noise when Patrick pushes a hand against his stomach, and Patrick laughs a little. “Ready for a third?” he asks.

There’s a tiny part of Pete’s brain saying,  _ Um, no? You’re really fucking full, your stomach’s already starting to hurt,  _ but he doesn’t even have time to process that thought before he’s opening his mouth and taking another bite. There’s grease and ketchup all over his chin and mouth, and judging by the looks Patrick’s giving him, it’s not getting cleaned off anytime soon. 

Pete works his way through another giant burger with Patrick’s… help, and then before he even registers what he’s doing, he’s opening his mouth as Patrick gives him some light, fizzy soda.

“Fuck,” Patrick says under his breath, half a moan, as he reaches down to palm Pete’s stomach once again. There’s an ache forming in the pit of Pete’s stomach that Patrick’s not really helping, and Pete would say something about it if he wasn’t mindlessly drinking more soda. “Mmph,” he settles for, surprised that his vocal cords actually work.

Patrick raises one eyebrow and slowly takes away some of the pressure and the two liter bottle (the  _ half-empty  _ two liter bottle, Pete notices) of Sprite. “Yes?”

“I can’t - it hurts,” Pete whines. He’s not sure how much more he can take. He’d already been snacking all day, it’s a new habit of his, and after three fucking cheeseburgers and a liter of soda, his stomach  _ hurts.  _

“I think you can take more,” Patrick says casually. “You can safeword if you want, of course, but I really think you can take it.”

Pete can sense that there’s really not too much choice in the matter, and even though he’d never admit it to Patrick, he  _ loves  _ when Patrick takes more control. “I-” he says, mostly for show, but then the pressure returns and the rest of the sentence comes out as, “I can take it.” 

“Good,” Patrick says. “You’re doing so good, Pete.”

He puts the soda bottle down next to himself on the coffee table and pulls a small plastic box of chocolate chip cookies out of the bag. “There’s only a dozen here,” he tells Pete. “Just this dozen, and then you can finish the soda, and then we’re all done.”

Pete would normally be asking for a longer break here, but it’s not up to him today. Patrick’s barely finished talking by the time he’s pushing a soft cookie past Pete’s lips, and Pete’s biting off half of it without even thinking about it. 

He’s distantly aware of the way his shirt’s started to ride up over his stomach, of the way he can feel the bubbly soda fizzing, of the half-melted chocolate that’s already smearing over his lips, but that’s all just kind of background noise compared to Patrick’s voice.

“So good,” Patrick’s murmuring, “just another bite, that’s it,” and the words are honestly going straight to Pete’s dick.

The cookies are gone and Pete’s achingly hard the next time he’s conscious enough of the world around him to notice. “Fuck,” he murmurs.

Patrick places a hand under his chin and lifts his head up slightly, the gesture strangely gentle in the midst of what they’re doing. “You just have the soda left,” he explains. “You’re only halfway under right now. I can take you all the way out, or I can put you all the way in. Your choice here."

“In,” Pete says immediately. “Please.”

Patrick shakes his head a little, like he already knew the answer, and leans in to kiss Pete before the pressure returns.

Pete lets himself physically sink back into the feeling - or does Patrick let him, he’s not sure where the line is anymore - and it’s almost like falling asleep until another wave of dizziness rushes over him and he knows he’s out.

“Fuck,” he gasps out. The weight in his stuffed stomach is suddenly  _ there _ , aching and stretching, and he can feel the almost-constriction of his shirt and the way his jeans are digging into his skin. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Patrick agrees, voice slightly breathy, and when Pete looks down he sees that Patrick’s slowly jerking himself off. “How are you feeling?”   


Pete doesn’t even know where to start, so he just settles for, “Really fucking full and really fucking hard, I - “ he breaks off into a whimper as Patrick reaches forward and cups him through his pants.    


“I would unbutton your jeans,” Patrick says, “but I kinda want to see how deep of a mark they’ll leave if they stay on for a little while longer. Do you think you could come just from this?”   
  
Pete nods, he’s having trouble shaping words at the moment, and then he’s fucking coming in his pants just from Patrick’s hand half-rubbing his cock, half-rubbing his stomach. “ _ Fuck, _ ” he finally manages. “Jesus Christ, Trick.”

Patrick doesn’t answer, because he’s too busy coming all over his hand with a strangled moan that sounds pretty damn close to Pete’s name. He moves from the coffee table to the couch and flops back with a loud, tired sigh. 

“Nap?” he suggests. 

Pete groans. “I think I’m too full to nap. Can you rub my belly? Not like you’ve been keeping your hands off of it anyway,” he says, laughing a little.

“Shut up,” Patrick retorts, “it’s hot and you fucking know it.” Because he’s a nice boyfriend, though, he reaches over and starts rubbing his hands in slow circles across Pete’s stomach.

“Have I told you that you’re the best?” Pete mumbles, sounding instantly sleepier and half-drunk in the way he does when he’s stuffed like this.

“A couple times,” Patrick says with a soft snort. “You only like me because I give you food and belly rubs, though. And because I have weird powers that you manipulate for your own kinky purposes.”

“ _ You’re  _ the one doing the manipulation,” Pete says, but there’s no bite to his words. He drops his head onto Patrick’s shoulder with a contented sigh. “Hey, by the way, I think I need to size up in jeans again. These were, like, almost impossible to get on this morning.”

Patrick half-chokes on his spit because  _ Jesus Christ,  _ Pete can’t just drop shit like that on him, but he manages to regain his composure enough to say something about putting it on the to-do list before Pete shifts so his head is in Patrick’s lap and falls into one of his stuffed, food-coma-esque sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> it got Sweet (sorta) at the end there idk where that came from but anyway.  
> ty for reading, feedback is great!


End file.
